


the languages in which we love

by chaevity



Series: LOVE ALONE ━ ONESHOTS [3]
Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Ha Sooyoung | Yves is Whipped, Kim Jiwoo | Chuu is so cute, chuuves - Freeform, idk what to tag this um, it isnt really fluff but we'll call it that, lesbian-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaevity/pseuds/chaevity
Summary: “I’m in love with you, Kim Jiwoo. I swear on the stars.” Yves took her hand, placing it on her heart. “My heart is yours, and only yours, and this is your permission to do what you want with it. Whatever makes you happy. Because it belongs to you. I belong to you.”Chuu pulled her in by the front of the shirt and kissed her with everything she had, and even though no words were exchanged, they both knew what she was saying. Because they spoke the same language."I love you, too."In which Ha Sooyoung learns to love an extraordinary girl with an even more extraordinary love language.
Relationships: Ha Sooyoung | Yves/Kim Jiwoo | Chuu
Series: LOVE ALONE ━ ONESHOTS [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065656
Comments: 1
Kudos: 83





	the languages in which we love

The first time Kim Jiwoo saw the woman she’d learn to love was when she was sixteen. 

It was a Wednesday in April. The first time they met was right as the flowers were budding and blooming, the world erupting into a beautiful spring.

Jiwoo had wanted to finish the paper she’d been assigned to complete by her least-favorite teacher to prevent herself from procrastinating, but she could hardly hear her own thoughts over the screaming of her parents in the room next to hers. 

So she slung her writing bag over her shoulder, grabbed her keys, and yelled, “I’m going out” to her parents—it hardly mattered, though—they couldn’t hear her over their arguing. She walked herself to her favorite coffee shop downtown; it was always open and tonight proved to be no different. 

But there was one thing out of the ordinary—the lady singing in the corner, playing guitar with a dark jeweled hat set over her eyes. Even though Jiwoo couldn’t see her face, she couldn’t help but feel intrigued by the mysterious woman. But soon after Jiwoo entered, the lady walked out the back door—but not before Jiwoo dropped a ten-dollar bill in her guitar case and watched her leave. 

The second time Jiwoo encountered the lady she’d learn to love was three weeks later. 

In writing class, her teacher had offhandedly mentioned a slam poetry contest taking place in the same café she’d seen the woman in—Jiwoo, being the determined girl she was, had gone in to “study” every single night, in hopes of seeing the lady with the guitar again. But she had no luck, and every single night she left with a pout on her face. 

But even if Jiwoo never saw the woman again, that didn’t change the fact that this coffee shop was her favorite in town, and she was a girl with a major poetry obsession. So the night of the contest, she walked into the café with a bright smile and a skip in her step. 

And just her luck—a woman with a guitar strapped to her back entered just before Jiwoo, seating herself in the only free table in the café—the corner booth. Jiwoo smiled and followed. 

“Excuse me?” She asked politely. The woman raised her eyes to meet Jiwoo’s, and goodness if she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman Jiwoo had ever seen—“Can I sit here? There are no other free seats.”

The woman thought for a moment before nodding, bright red bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jiwoo smiled her token grin and sat down excitedly, placing her notebook onto the dark green table and crossing her arms over it. 

“Are you here to play?” Jiwoo asked, motioning to her guitar. “Or to read, or to just watch…”

The woman stared at Jiwoo for a moment. Then she sighed. “Just to watch. I came directly from my last booking, which is why I have this old thing…” She pointed to her guitar. 

Jiwoo hadn’t even really been listening. She was too immersed in the way the woman spoke—her voice was rich, and soft, and dreamy; her hair was short and dark and her eyes were smoky and intense. Jiwoo was infatuated. 

She yanked herself out of her daze and nodded politely. “I’m Jiwoo, by the way. Some people call me Chuu, if that’s easier.”

“Sooyoung. Call me Yves.”

Jiwoo nodded. She was about to say something more when she heard her name being announced. 

“It’s my turn. I’ll be back soon.” She pulled herself away from the table and pushed in her chair before smiling at Yves. “Don’t miss me too much.”

She scoffed. “I’ll try.”

“I’m here!” Jiwoo skipped back to the table she was sharing with Yves when she was finished reading her poem onstage, after receiving very loud applause from everyone in the audience. 

Yves smiled at the bouncy girl—she was naturally bubbly, and even though Yves was quite introverted, she had to admit that Jiwoo was easy to be drawn to. 

“You did well. Did you write that yourself?”

Jiwoo nodded excitedly. “I’m proud of it. Was it good?”

“Great. I wish I could write like that.” Yves swallowed, brushing off her lap and standing. “I should get going, though. I have class tomorrow.”

Jiwoo nodded. “Me too.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Yves smiled. “Goodbye, Jiwoo.”

She was about to walk away when Jiwoo shouted after her. 

“Wait!”

She turned. 

“Will I see you again?”

Yves grinned brightly—oh, if Jiwoo wasn’t already lovestruck—and nodded to the napkin sitting in front of where she’d been sitting. 

Jiwoo picked it up. 

Call me - (xxx)xxx-xxxx

She turned to where Yves had been standing a moment before, but she was gone.

Jiwoo had stayed up all night, waiting for a response from Yves. When the morning had come and gone and she still had received no response, she was beginning to believe that she had been given a fake number. But as she was exiting her school’s gates, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Chuu. It’s Sooyoung.”

Jiwoo’s face lit up. “Yves! You responded!”

She chuckled. “I’m not a big fan of typing.”

“That’s understandable. Are you done with your classes?”

“Just about. Have you eaten lunch?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“Meet me at the café. My treat.”

Jiwoo smiled widely, bidding her goodbyes and hanging up before scrambling to the coffee shop excitedly.

When she got there, she glanced around the shop. She nearly thought she’d beat Yves there before she heard her voice being called from the corner. 

“Jiwoo!”

Jiwoo turned and saw Yves smiling, sitting in the same booth from the night before with knees pulled to her chest. She was wearing the same hat as the night of her performance, guitar case placed behind her. 

Jiwoo smiled widely and skipped over, hugging Yves. “Sooyoung!”

Yves laughed. They’d met the night before and Jiwoo was already getting attached—not that Yves was complaining. Jiwoo’s naturally optimistic personality seemed to put her in a good mood nearly immediately. 

“Hi, Chuu. You’re sure excitable, aren’t you?” 

“None of my school friends are as cool as you are.”

“Well, none of my school friends are as bubbly as you are.” Yves ruffled her hair. “Quite the mood maker, you are.”

Jiwoo nodded and giggled, leaning into Yves’ hand. “You know, last night wasn’t the first time we met.” 

Yves furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“A couple of weeks ago, when you performed, I was here. I was supposed to be doing homework, but you distracted me too much.” Jiwoo snickered. “I gave you a ten-dollar bill. I wanted to talk to you, but you looked too cool for the likes of me.”

Yves chuckled. “Awww, were you shy?”

“No!” Jiwoo blushed. “I just thought you were pretty.”

Yves smiled, gently placing her hand on top of Jiwoo’s. “You shouldn’t be nervous around new people. Anyone would be lucky to know you.”

Jiwoo swallowed. Sooyoung’s gentle grip felt like fire on top of her palm. It made her stomach get tight and her chest flip over, and she could feel a wave roll through her throat—her skin felt hot where Yves touched her, and she didn’t know why. 

She managed to choke out a response. “Really?”

“Really.”

Weeks passed. Jiwoo and Yves would meet every Sunday at the coffee shop, talking and giggling and cracking jokes. But one night, when Yves was walking Jiwoo home, their laughter was interrupted by the sound of loud arguing. 

Yves frowned. “Chuu? What’s that?”

Jiwoo swallowed. “It’s nothing, Sooyoungie. Just my parents.”

“Do they do that often?” She asked, voice laced with concern. 

Jiwoo sighed. “Every night. That’s why I go to the café so often: I can’t focus with their yelling. They never notice I’m gone, anyway.”

Yves bit her lip, thinking. “Well, do you think they would notice if you stayed with me?”

The first thing Jiwoo did when Sooyoung fell asleep that night was sit down at the dining table and write a poem. 

While she was writing it, she told herself she didn’t know what it was about, or why she was writing it—but in the back of her mind, and the depths of her stomach, she knew it was about the girl with the pale skin, the dark eyes and the voice of honey. And as much as Jiwoo wanted to tell her, writing was all Jiwoo knew. 

But when she read it over the next morning, on the way to school she realized it had a certain rhythm—she was struck with an idea, and knew exactly who to call. 

“Sooyoung!” 

“Hey, Chuu.” Yves sat down across from Jiwoo in their booth with a smile and her guitar strapped to her back, like always. “What was so important that it just couldn’t wait?”

“That song you performed a couple of weeks ago. You wrote it, didn’t you?’

Yves frowned. “Yes, of course. Why?”

Jiwoo slammed her poem down on the table. “I wrote this yesterday. When I was reading it over earlier, I realized how rhythmic the words were. Then I thought of you, and I thought that maybe you might be able to use them.”

Yves stared at Jiwoo. “You want me to turn your poem into a song?”

Jiwoo swallowed, suddenly insecure. She pulled away. “Sorry, now that I think about it, it’s stupid-”

“No!” Yves exclaimed. “No, that came out wrong. I just...you’re an amazing writer. You want me to make your lyrics a song?”

Jiwoo recovered from her temporary insecurity, grinning. “There’s no one else I’d rather work with than you, Sooyoungie.”

Weeks later, it was finished. 

Their summer breaks interceded, and they spent all of the weeks they had free working on the song. And finally, after days and nights of writing and rewriting and recording and re-recording, it was flawless—just in time for Jiwoo’s birthday.

“You did it, Sooyoungie. It’s perfect.” Jiwoo spoke from where she was seated in her chair, smiling brightly at the girl in front of her. “It’s wonderful.”

“Not just me, Chuu.” Yves pulled her up by the hand, bringing her into a tight hug. “We did it. You and I.”

Jiwoo hesitated before wrapping her arms around Yves’ waist, squeezing her tightly.

“You’re amazing, Chuu. Has anyone told you that?”

Jiwoo pulled away, smiling. “I’ve heard it once or twice. I wouldn’t mind hearing it again, though-”

Yves laughed and ruffled her hair. “You’re silly.” She turned her head to the clock, watching as it struck midnight. “And now you’re eighteen. Happy birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” Yves smiled. “I would never forget your birthday. I’m not that dim.”

Jiwoo smiled. “I never said you were.”

“I know.” Yves chuckled. “But you should get home to your family. It’s been weeks, and it’s a special day, after all. I’m sure they want to spend it with you.”

“But what if I want to spend my birthday with you?”

Yves smiled before slinging her guitar over her shoulder and approaching the door. “Then come to the café tonight. I’m performing something special, just for my Jiwoo.”

With a kiss to the forehead and a squeeze on the arm, Yves was gone. 

And after countless meetings, on that October night, Jiwoo knew she’d learned to love Ha Sooyoung. 

Jiwoo opened the door to the café that night, hearing the bell tinkle above her head. Some random man was performing, but Jiwoo saw the tracklist and saw that Yves would be on next. So she sat down in her corner booth and waited. 

Minutes later, the last thing she expected to hear was the instrumental of the song she’d written start to play through the shop. She looked at the stage and saw Yves smiling at her, fingers flying over her guitar as she strung out the chords. 

Jiwoo smiled widely, singing the lyrics softly to herself as she watched Yves perform. 

Minutes passed, and as the song came to a close, Yves got closer to the microphone as she prepared to speak. 

“That was Heart Attack, an original, written by someone who has a birthday today!” She exclaimed, earning applause from the audience. 

She paused. “The first time I met that someone, I was cold, and rude, and a bit stand-offish. But she continued to try and get to know me, and for the first time, I felt like I was someone worth knowing.

That someone’s love language was writing. When she wrote this song for me, I realized that. I had never loved anyone before, in fear of getting hurt, so I never knew just what my love language was. But when she handed me these lyrics and told me that there was no one else she’d rather write for, I thought that perhaps I’d become someone more than worth knowing.” She smiled. “Maybe I’d become someone worth loving. And I’m here to say that, Jiwoo, I hope I’m right, because God, I’m in love with you.”

By the time her little speech was over, Jiwoo had tears starting to well in her eyes. When Yves realized, she packed up as quickly as she could and raced off the stage, wrapping Jiwoo in her arms and hugging her tightly. 

“Don’t cry. You don’t have to cry.” Yves pulled away slightly, yanking her sleeve over her hand and raising it to Jiwoo’s cheek to wipe the tears now dripping down her face. “I’m here now. Don’t cry.”

Jiwoo sniffed and buried her face into the space between Yves’ shoulder and neck, playing with the hem of her shirt in her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Jiwoo pulled away, staring at her shoelaces. As much as she wanted to believe Yves, she couldn’t help the doubt filling her abdomen and growing tight in her chest. What if Sooyoung was joking? 

“Hey.”

Chuu met her gaze, attempting to hide the doubt lacing her figure. Yves knew her better than that, though—but Yves would never let Jiwoo be afraid, or sad, or alone. Because she loved her. 

“I do love you, you know. I wasn’t joking.”

Jiwoo swallowed. “Promise?”

“I’m in love with you, Kim Jiwoo. I swear on the stars.” Yves took her hand, placing it on her heart. “My heart is yours, and only yours, and this is your permission to do what you want with it. Whatever makes you happy. Because it belongs to you. I belong to you.”

Chuu pulled her in by the front of the shirt and kissed her with everything she had, and even though no words were exchanged, they both knew what she was saying. Because they spoke the same language. 

"I love you, too."


End file.
